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03-24-2025.
March Twenty Fourth, Twenty-Twenty Five.
At some point if you write a word enough, it stops seeming like a word.
I get it a little just from typing out the date above, but it's
insane how bad it gets when I'm programming. Writing the variable name
"textLength" over and over changed it in my mind. It started as just
a two-word phrase at first, text Length, text Length, text Length, then
slowly into one word, textLength, textLength, textLength. Once it felt
like one word, everything broke down from there. textLength just
became a set of syllables, a nice little tap and click with the tongue
against the teeth, then a satisfying flatten and flick to get the word
out. On top of this, my brain also associated the name only with the
integer value textLength contained, so I dissociate the word from two
directions at a time.

It feels like the entire world for me has been said too many times,
and is starting to not seem real anymore either. After all, how can
my life become fuller and more enjoyable as I transition, but at
the same time get scarier and scarier as the hatred against me for
just being born "wrong" manifests in government policy. I feel as if
I am having a picnic under the falling moon, losing all my worries
because I will be wiped out whether I choose to or not, simply on the
basis of being born in the wrong body at the wrong time. I hadn't
posted on my phlog in a long time, too worried about life and
getting hormones under the new presidency to enjoy many hobbies.
For months I was a nervous wreck, wondering if there would be anything
done to stop the impending fascism and genocide in the United States
by the Democrats, but they not only couldn't fathom the idea of
breaking decorum, much less actually resisting fascism. Now, I
understand that like all other politicians and capitalists, they hold
no value for human life if they believe it hurts their chances at
power or money. Watching democrats like Gavin Newsom go on a right
wing podcast and attack trans women with counterfactual statements,
I truly came to understand that noone cares to come and save us.
I thought this thought would make me incredibly depressed, and it
does hurt, but at the same time it's not like I need to worry about
how I dress anymore because my hormones are in my charts. If I'm
going to face consequences for being myself, I might as well start
enjoying it before they hit.

This is not to say I won't do my level best to stay alive, keep others
alive and undo this mess we've gotten into, but it's just very
interesting to see that paper on mental health improving during a
disaster scenario be actually noticeable coming true in my life.

- Aurelia
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(p.s. excuse the word-vomit-ness of this post, I'm trying to get back
into writing after not for a long time, and I'm still pretty rusty :3)